Broken Chorus
by TheTangoSel
Summary: This story takes place right after RENT and follows the beloved characters as they deal with Angel's death, their ongoing battle with AIDS, and a whole new set of problems including withdrawal, documentaries, and puppies.
1. Chapter 1: FILM

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**Chapter One**

**xMarkx**

_9:00 a.m. December 26, 1990_

I wrapped my same old scarf around my neck and pulled on my jacket. I picked my bag and left the apartment and all its shit, pushing my bike down the steps.

Outside the streets were filled with pollution, as they always were. I pushed off the pavement and onto my bike, riding down the street. I passed the homeless, sleeping on the street with nothing but tattered clothing.

My glasses fogged from the freezing cold. My fingers started to freeze on the handlebars, and I could see my breath. I hate winter.

I stopped outside the tall building where Buzzline was. I parked my bike outside and headed in. It was warmer inside.

I rode up to the 15th floor, getting out at the 'ding' of the elevator. I checked in at the front desk and went to see my boss.

"Hello Mark," she said, "please, sit."

I sat down in a chair in front of her desk, taking out my camera. "I finished my documentary about the homeless," I told her.

She smiled and said, "Please do show me."

I set up all the equipment and attached to tape to the projector. I glanced at her before starting it, and then the memories came flooding to me.

Memories of the past year. Memories of my past subjects. Memories of my past friends. And I watched as the video showed me and made me relive the past year.

The year came and went. From it, came Roger's happiness with Mimi and my job at Buzzline. What went with it was so much more. Angel.

We all miss him very much, Collins more than anything. We're healing slowly, but the song is still broken.

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_**Chapter By: **_S_


	2. Chapter 2: ROGER

**Authors Note: **_Yay for chapter two! I wrote this one and I really hope you like it! Pretty please review because I love reviews and I appreciate your comments and suggestions! And yes, in case you are wondering, time just went backwards from the last chapter._

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**Chapter Two**

**xRogerx**

_7:00 AM, December 26, 1990_

"I seriously don't understand the point of this," I sighed, shaking my head and cracking open a can of coke. Mark shrugged and took a swig from his beer bottle.

"What else do you think we should do?" he snorted, his blue eyes flickering from me back to the TV screen.

"Why did we even waste our money on this cheap thing?" I growled, feeling the urge to kick the little black box sitting on top of a probably rotting rickety wooden table. "I mean, seriously."

"No, I can understand why you bought the thing," Collins laughed his deep, choked laugh. "But what I can't understand is why you two are watching cartoons on it."

I glared at him and turned my attention to the blocky, brightly-colored, childish comic strip-like "TV Show" playing. It hardly qualified as a television show at all, considering that it had absolutely no point. What's so great about watching an animal bashing another animal's skull in with a baseball bat?

Mark finished off his beer and tossed the empty bottle on the floor… somehow, it didn't shatter into pieces, unlike everything else these days. There was all our shit strewn across the floor, but it had gotten better over the past week.

"Hey guys I was thinking of… going down to Angel's grave later today… would any of you guys want to…?" Collins voice trailed off as his eyes darted between Mark and I.

"Can't. I've got a meeting with Buzzline." Mark shook his head, pushing his thick glasses up.

"I can go." I gave a half smile.

"What about Mimi?" Mark asked, hopping up from the couch. I stretched out across the length of the sofa and watched as he paced across the room, kicking stuff aside. He was obviously nervous about his meeting with Buzzline.

"Mimi?" I repeated, giving him a puzzled look.

"Yeah, Mimi, remember her?" he chuckled.

"I don't think so," I lowered my head and looked at my feet. "It is so cold, anyways, and she probably doesn't feel up to it." I explained patiently, not giving them a chance to ask why.

"I was thinking of inviting Joanne and Maureen over later, too, do you think she'd be up to that?" Mark asked hesitantly.

"You could ask her, you know," I pointed out. "Hey, Thomas, let's go." Grabbing my worn black leather jacket and dark green knit scarf off the back of the rickety chair by the table I headed towards the door. Collins followed, snatching up his special leather trench coat from the floor.

"You know, there are those few moments when I forget about everything that happened to us. Sometimes I forget about what we've been through in the past year. And then you bring it up again." Mark sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Do you want us just to _forget_everything that happened? To forget Angel, and to forget everything we went through together?" I fired back, grabbing the handle of the cold, heavy metal sliding door.

"You know that's not what I," Mark started, but I just shook my head and trudged out the door, Collins right behind me.

It was hard for me to imagine too that it was only a year ago that we'd all come together and quickly becoming friends; a family; only to be split apart and reunited, but not completely. We were still broken and picking up the pieces, frantically trying to recreate what we once had.

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**Authors Note: **_Review! Please review now!_


	3. Chapter 3: GRAVE

**Hi, it's twilighthp95 here, from "Ginny Weasley and the Deathly Hallows" and "The Christmas of '97". Hope you like my first chapter for this fic!

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Mimi

I walked onto the street and shut the door to the apartment building behind me, hugging myself and shivering. Not only was a toasty thirty degrees outside, but I had stopped using after I had almost died, and I hadn't been feeling right ever since.

I crossed the street with a herd of other New Yorkers and headed for central Park. I needed some meditative me-time. I was trying not to show everyone how sick I was feeling, but that meant they weren't as concerned about helping me like they usually would be. Sometimes when they did do that, it got really annoying, but not having the encouragement turned out to be much worse.

I loved the Shakespeare Garden in Central Park, and it was usually empty. I was hoping that going there to read the quotes that were placed on plaques throughout the flowerbeds and look at the beautiful tulips, which were maintained year-round, would help me to forget everything I was going through right now. On top of being sick, my heart was still tender from losing Angel. It was just a difficult time overall. It was hard to believe that just one year ago all the love of my friendships with Roger, Collins, Mark, Maureen, Joanne, and Angel had just been starting, and now, so soon, Angel was gone and everything had changed.

As I walked through the flowers of the garden, I could feel a definite calming aura. Nothing helped like a walk in the Shakespeare garden. I spent a quarter of an hour in there, sitting on one of the benches and looking out at the beautiful view.

I thought about the sheer misery of giving up using. I thought about how easy it would be just to go back to my old habits, and how good it would feel. I was tempted. But then I thought about Roger and all my other friends. I thought about how disappointed they would be in me if I slipped back, and I tried to think confident thoughts for the rest of the time I was at the park. Then I left and started slowly wandering back towards my apartment.

Suddenly, I noticed two figures walking towards me that I would recognize anywhere. It was Roger and Collins! I walked faster towards them, which made them notice me and do the same in turn.

"Hey, girl," said Collins as he approached. "What you doin'? You up for comin' to visit our Angel with us?"

"Yeah, I think I am," I said cautiously, shooting a glance at Roger.

"Is that good or bad?" asked Roger sternly.

"Good," I said firmly. God, relapse once and you never hear the end of it!

"Good," said Roger approvingly, smiling at me.

"What you two tellin' secrets about?" chided Collins.

"Nothing, nothing," I answered quickly.

The other guys didn't even know I'd stopped using. It was a surprise. But Roger knew me too well. He could tell within twenty-four hours. We walked together, his arm over my shoulders as I pressed to his side, shivering. Collins walked on Roger's other side, chattering obliviously as Roger shot constant worried glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, we arrived at the graveyard. It was empty until we got there. We made our way to the back of the graveyard, where Angel was buried. We stood around in silence for several minutes after managing to find it again. Roger pulled a rose out of his inside coat pocket, bent down, and carefully placed it on the ground in front of Angel's tombstone.

"He was," said Roger to Collins with a deep breath, "more of a man than either of us will ever be …"

"And more of a woman than I'll ever get … again," murmured Collins back. He was smiling slightly, but tears ran slowly down his cheeks.

"He's in a better place now, you know," I said, barely managing to get the words out without choking on them because they were so incredibly corny. "You'll see him again someday. And you know what?" I added. "He doesn't even have to miss you ,because looking down on you right now."

"No," said Collins. I turned sharply to look at him, startled and confused. "That doesn't sound like my Angel. Angel- Angel would never look down on anybody. And some way, some how, even though he's in heaven, I am positive that he has found a way to look straight _at_ everyone. Right on their level. That way, they won't feel less than him. And that- that sounds like my Angel. Right there."

"You know," I said thoughtfully, looking over at him, "I think you're right. Angel would never, ever look down on anyone. Under any circumstances. Even heaven."

Now, Roger had never been the emotional type. When he didn't make a sound this entire time, I just assumed he was standing there awkwardly, his hands in his pockets and his mind wondering when the heck he could get out of here. But now I glanced at him, prepared to glare scornfully because he couldn't join in our sappy conversation just this once, and did a double take. Roger was … was … was crying! Completely unheard of for a guy like Roger, yet there it was, happening right in front of my eyes. I was stunned, and I couldn't do anything but stare in utter amazement.

"Are you okay, Roger?" I asked tearily. I had been close to tears already, but if Roger was crying? I would look heartless if I didn't! Really!

"Yeah," he murmured, interrupting my thoughts. Then he walked past me to Collins, whose head was hanging as salty tears dripped to the ground. He gave him one of those weird one-armed guy-hugs, clapped him on the back, and then, in a voice that was almost a whisper, abnormally high with emotion, "I'm there for ya, man."

Now I was the one standing awkwardly off to the side as I began to cry, too. Not just for Angel. Finally, Roger was being open. My one regret about being his girlfriend was that he never cried, said "I love you", or showed that he any feelings at all, let alone knew what expressing them even meant or how on Earth to do it.

We stood and cried for what was probably half an hour or possibly even more. The pain of losing Angel was still so fresh, so easily and vividly called back to our minds from our memories, that maybe visiting his grave hadn't been the best idea we'd ever had. Maybe it wasn't time yet- maybe we weren't quite ready for this. It was simply too easy for this to feel like the very day Angel had been buried, and that had been one of the most depressing days of my life.

Eventually our crying gave way to sniffling, shaky breaths, and red eyes. Wiping our eyes and blowing our noses with the tissues I'd had to carry around constantly ever since Angel died, we tried to straighten out our breathing as we headed back towards the busy city street.

Without having thoughts of Angel to distract me, I began to feel sick again. I let out a slight involuntary groan as Roger helped me stumble my way across the street. He almost looked reassured. I knew my lack of complaint was making him suspicious of me, not making him think I was brave, but I didn't want him to feel obliged to spend very waking moment getting me through this, so I avoided his eyes the rest of the way back home.

When we arrived at my room, which both Roger and, to Roger's dismay (he obviously wanted to talk to me in private), Collins, insisted on escorting me to, I thanked them for letting me tag along on their outing, refused my boyfriend's invitation to come watch his new TV set with him, and claimed I needed a nap after the cold outing, promising to call later.

I hustled inside as soon as I could and breathed a sigh of relief as I leaned against the door and sank slowly down to the floor.

I didn't want to talk about my withdrawal. I wanted to be left alone! Why couldn't he see that? I thought about how tempted I had been earlier. I wondered if trying to quit using was like visiting Angel's grave. It was too soon, and reminded me too much of … why I had started using in the first place. And I did not, I repeat, not want to be reminded of that.

But then I realized that, really, trying to quit using was like Angel's actual death. What would be like visiting his grave would be talking about it. The only difference was, there was no "try" about Angel's death.

And that's when I figured out that, if I wanted to be successful with this, I had to stop thinking of it as trying to quit and start thinking of it as quitting. I couldn't undo Angel's death any time I felt like it. It was permanent, though at the moment it was very hard.

And I decided right then that I wouldn't just end my quitting anytime I felt like it, either. It, too, was now permanent.


	4. Chapter 4: A NEW DOCUMENTARY

_**xCOLLINSx**_

_**Chapter Four**_

_ 5:00PM, December 26, 1990_

"Well, first of all, Angel saved my life," I explained slowly, staring straight into the eye of the camera that stared me in the face. It was menacing… strange, alien. But, I knew that Mark was sitting behind the camera, so it didn't really seem like such a stranger. Even though it did. If that made any sense at all… "If he hadn't come and found me in that alley, I might've died."

Mark nodded and motioned for me to continue. "I don't know if there is much more I can say," I shrugged, feeling warm tears in my eyes. "Life's been a bitch, to me and to Angel, and now he's gone. But, what we had was so special I don't even think words could really describe it." I looked away from the camera at Roger, who was sipping coffee and watch the television with glassy eyes. "I think there's only one word that could describe it, and that's love. I love you, too, Mark. And Roger. But I don't think that I can say much more than that."

"That's fine," Mark mouthed, fiddling with his camera. I stood up, sitting beside Roger on the couch.

"What are you watching that's making you look so sad?" I asked, looking at the screen. Oprah.

"I wasn't really watching it," Roger chuckled, quickly switching it off. I shook my head slowly, unsure if he was lying or not.

"When are they coming?" I asked Mark, who was putting away his film equipment. He was desperately trying to make another movie to send to Buzzline, being so proud of the $3,000 a pop he was being offered. "Maureen and Joanne, I mean."

"I don't know, somewhere around nine? Why?" Mark answered, still preoccupied.

"'Cause I'm damn _bored_." I sighed, putting an arm around Roger, who was staring out the window, as if waiting for a bird to smash into the glass or something. "So is he."

"That's not really my fault, is it?" Mark laughed. "I'm starving though,"

"That's not really my fault, is it?" I mimicked, trying to sound like him.

"Wow, that actually sounded like Mark," Roger mused, a smile twitching on his face.

"It kind of did," Mark confessed. "Where's your girlfriend, anyways?"

"Downstairs," said Roger nonchalantly. "She's probably sleeping. Why?"

"I don't know, I thought that since she came back you'd just be together all the time." Mark shrugged. I couldn't disagree, 'cause I'd thought the same thing. Roger spent more time alone, staring listlessly at windows or walls then he did with his own girlfriend.

"Yeah, man, aren't you happy you got her back?" I raised my eyebrows, shaking him by the shoulders.

"Hell, yeah," He said, lacking enthusiasm, shaking out his long blonde hair. "You know, she's just a little weak and I don't want to disrupt her recovery."

"Uh huh," I grinned, shaking my head and leaping to my feet, swinging the fridge door open and grabbing a cold can of Coke. I popped it open and took a gulp, sitting back down next to Roger and putting my feet on the coffee table and an arm around Roger, the other around Mark who sat at my other side. "Having friends is great," I said, still smiling. "So is living this life we're living. It's shitty at times, but it is great knowing you've got friends."

"La vie boheme," Roger muttered. "We're almost completely broke and I have barely enough to pay for medications."

"At least we have a TV," Mark pointed out.

"At least we have _friends_," I corrected. Because that was almost all that really mattered to me.


	5. Chapter 5: ANGEL

**Chapter Five**

**xRogerx**

_10:02 PM, December 26, 1990_

"Typical Maureen," Mark muttered, obviously irritated. "She called and said they'd be here at nine fifteen or something."

"You sure she didn't mean nine fifteen tomorrow morning?" Collins joked with a deep chuckle.

"Besides, they are only forty-five minutes late," I added sarcastically, smiling at Mimi who was huddled against my side like a kitten, with my arm around her frail figure, sitting together on our worn couch. She was dangerously thin and didn't eat much of the food we'd piled in front of her. She looked hungry and tired and cold, though we'd done all we could. We wrapped her in our winter clothes and a thick Indian blanket and I held her close, but she still looked terrible, and didn't say much either. "Are you sure you don't want one of these chocolate-chip cookies?" I asked Mimi, holding up a small lumpy Chips-Ahoy cookie. "You know, I went out to the store and got these just for you."

"And me," Mark grinned, grabbing a cookie from the package.

"I'm fine, thanks," Mimi answered, shaking her head. But, she took the cookie I was holding anyways, nibbled on it like a rabbit and then scarfed it down.

"Are you sure you are feeling okay?" I raised my eyebrows. She looked terrible, with dark circles under her eyes, and her skin had a deathly gray tint to it, her hair limp. She was wearing what I'd gotten her for Christmas beneath all the layers of blankets and winter clothing, red flannel pajamas that had been all I could afford. They were a late Christmas gift, and maybe not a great one, but they were warm and keeping her warm was important, considering how we could barely pay the heating bills and though they hadn't turned off our heat YET, it was still freezing. I was cold, too, but she was more important.

"Hellooooooo!" Interrupted Maureen's shrill voice as she burst into the apartment.

"Wow, Maureen, you're punctual," Mark snorted. "You know, we've all been waiting for you.

"I know, I'm sure," Maureen grinned, turning to Joanne who was lagging behind, carrying a relatively large cardboard box.

"What's in the box?" Collins asked, craning his neck to look at the box, which Joanne set carefully on the counter.

"Long story," Joanne shook her head, motioning for Maureen to explain. She didn't hesitate to begin.

"So, I brought you a late Christmas gift that I thought might cheer you up. Every time we're over here it seems so gloomy." Maureen began.

"Oh, no, you didn't bring us flowers, did you?" Mark groaned.

"No," Maureen pursed her lips.

"A severed head?" asked Collins.

"No!" Maureen giggled. "Joanne and I were walking down the street on our way here… we were going to be early, by the way, 'cause we left at, like, seven. Well, we were walking down the street and there was this old lady sitting next to this giant cardboard box with some little cardboard boxes stacked up next to her, and the big cardboard box had a blanket on the bottom and the old woman said to us 'Would you like to take one? I have nowhere else to keep 'em, and I think if no one takes them that I may as well eat them. That's the only use I'd have for them.' Well, Joanne and I were just _appalled _by this so we decided to take one and give it to you guys. That is, if you want it." Maureen smiled and waved her hand, a long stack of silver bracelets descending down her wrist as she shook her arm. "C'mere."

"Come on, Mimi, let's go see!" I grinned, shaking her to wake her up. She just groaned and buried her face in my sweatshirt. "Maureen!" I called out. "Bring it over here!"

She picked up the box and walked over to the coach, showing Mimi and I what was inside. She lifted her head slowly and opened one eye lazily, not even looking inside the box. "Oh Maureen," I sighed. "I don't think we can take this."

"Why not? I swear I'll get you everything it needs! Everything! Joanne and me already stopped at the store and got some things." Maureen exclaimed. "Come on, Roger, look at that face!" she lifted the small white fluffy puppy out of the box and held it up to _my _face. It was cute, with coal black eyes that stood out against its perfect white fur. I assumed that Joanne and Maureen had cleaned the puppy up before they brought it here, too, because its long white fur was fluffed to perfection with a bright red bow tied around its neck.

Suddenly, it licked my face with its long pink, wet tongue, leaving a trail of saliva on my face. "They say that dogs are great for sick people," Maureen pointed out, looking from me to Mimi.

"We're not sick," I objected, taking the puppy from her and holding it in my lap with Mimi still asleep on my shoulder. "Mimi, wake up and look at this puppy!" The dog licked her face energetically and she woke up quickly, giggling quietly.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Mimi asked quietly.

"Boy." Joanne chimed in, walking over to the coach and sitting beside Mimi.

"Roger, are we keeping him?" Mimi asked, widening her big puppy dog eyes. "I always wanted a dog or something, like, since I was a kid."

"Sure, we can keep him. But what we'll we name him?" I replied.

"Angel," we all said at once, Collins and Mark standing behind the coach and watching the puppy wriggle in Mimi's arms as she hugged it to her chest.

"Angel," she repeated softly.

"To Angel, the new and the old!" Maureen raised her beer bottle into the air.

"To Angel!" We echoed.

**xCollinsx**

_10:59 PM_

"Look," I chuckled, pointing over at the couch. "Ain't that cute," Roger and Mimi were both curled up together sleeping on the coach, the fluffy white puppy between them.

"The dog or those two?" Mark asked, looking over his shoulder at them.

"Both," I replied, taking another sip of coke from the silver metal can.

"That was my Coke, Collins," Maureen glared, somewhat jokingly. I honestly couldn't tell if she was serious, but she had that "I'll-Claw-Your-Eyes-Out!" look on her face.

"Sorry," I shrugged, taking another sip from her can.

"Ew," Joanne muttered. "She just drank from there."

"So?" I snorted.

"So, she backwashes!" Joanne exclaimed.

"So?" I repeated. Joanne just shook her head.

"You people! You'll never learn how to take care of yourselves and clean up around here!" Joanne protested, motioning towards the room. Nobody could argue with her, but nobody really wanted to either. Why argue with a lawyer? Especially a lawyer named Joanne.

"This is so lame," Mark murmured. "We're sitting around cold drinking Coke and talking about nothing in particular, because we have nothing better to say. And two of us are sleeping."

"I'm having fun," Maureen grinned, flipping a long red curl over her shoulder. "Why don't we play a game or something?"

"A game?" Mark and I echoed dumbly.

"Yeah, you know, like Monopoly," she explained patiently, pulling an old, cardboard rectangular box out of her giant canvas bag.

"A game about money?" Mark raised his blonde eyebrows. "Of course," he rolled his eyes. "Everything is about money."

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**AN: **_Well, that was chapter five and more is coming up! I hope you liked this one! I liked writing it. Please review! -E  
_**Chapter By: **_E_


	6. Chapter 6: APPOINTMENT

**Chapter Six**

**xRogerx**

_7:14 AM, December 27 1990_

"Are you ready?" I asked, eyeing Mimi carefully. She looked beautiful for an incredibly sick person, but the way she looked so delicate and fragile only added to her beauty. In my mind, at least…

She was dressed in black tight fitting jeans with tall black leather boots and a jade colored cashmere turtleneck, her tangled mass of curls loose and spread over her narrow shoulders. She also wore some new looking silver jewelry and a black and white newsboy hat. I didn't bother asking where she'd gotten the money for such an outfit, knowing that Benny probably still slipped her checks. Stupid Benny.

"I'm ready," Mimi nodded, looping her thin arm through mine and pressing herself against me so we were connected at the hip. It wasn't really a gesture of affection, more like a way of saying "I'm freezing and you are pretty warm, so let me stand next to you." Not that I minded, though….

"Goodbye, Angel," I cooed to the puppy that was sitting at my feet. "Mark, watch the dog, okay? I don't want her pissing all over the apartment. Then it will smell like piss."

"That's understandable," Mark dipped his head. "But, it already smells like shit for some reason, so why not have it smell like urine, too?"

"I'm serious," I growled.

"Get an air freshener while you're out," Mark shrugged.

"That boy has no money, Marcus." Collins pointed out, opening one eye sleepily from his place where he was "sleeping" on the chair.

"Right, right," Mark half-smiled-half-grimaced and stuck his hand in his jean's pocket, digging to find something. He pulled out his hand and slapped a couple green bills in my hand. "Don't but anything you don't need. I think it might be awhile before I get another paycheck, my new documentary isn't going so well."

"Your documentary about loooove?" I mocked, putting one hand around Mimi's waist, sensing that she was about to collapse from weakness.

"Yeah, that." Mark muttered, kicking a rubber chew toy on the floor. Angel bounded after it, yipping her puppy dog yip.

"Why don't you film Mimi and Roger?" Collins suggested jokingly. Mark nodded and pulled out his camera, shooting Mimi and me walking out the door, close together. Whoever would be watching these documentaries of Mark's would never know that we were miles apart on the inside, only staying close for warmth. It felt awkward, with Mimi latched to my side, because I hadn't seen her in such a long time, though she honestly hadn't changed much since then.

"Walking out the door into the freezing cold to go to the hospital isn't too romantic," I commented, kissing the top of Mimi's head softly. Remarkably, the appointment wasn't for her, it was for me.

xxx

The subway lurched forward and I held tight to Mimi, protecting her from the jolt of the sudden movement.

"Roger," she murmured. "You don't have to hold on to me so tight. Why don't you let me hold onto you? To protect you? This isn't about me, this is about you. You and _your _health, not mine. You don't need to act so brave, Roger," she wound her arms around my neck and gripped even more tightly, her fingernails clawing at my hair and into the skin on the back of my neck. Other people looked at us, but I didn't care. They could laugh, or they could say "Oh, that's so sweet," but only Mimi and I knew that we were both dying. Should be dead, even.

xxx

Dr. Gerard pays a very low fee for people like us to come in and get a "check-up". He tells us to come and see him if something's not right, if something doesn't feel right, etcetera, etcetera. And things haven't felt right for a while now, though it is probably just from stress. I worry about my own health, of course, but it isn't really at the top of my priorities list. I know I'm going to die and I won't go to great measures to prevent it, though I try to prolong my life as much as possible because my friends (and Mimi, of course) need me.

His waiting room is great, and sitting in it are only one-five other bohemians or dirt poor folk, all in dirty clothes with miserable faces and tangled hair attached. In my mind, Mimi and I are attractive dirt poor bohemians, but that's just my opinion. We don't look like rotting corpses… well, Mimi does a little bit…

When we entered the waiting room, a blast of warm air rushed over us. The always-toasty room was outfitted with a thick red rug that made you want to take your shoes off, and red and white striped walls that kind of looked like candy canes. There was two red plush loveseats, a long red sofa and several matching chairs that were either red or white. A long glass table was in the middle of the large windowless room, piled with magazines (Including "Living With: AIDS"). Warm, soft light came from bell shaped lamps stationed around the area and a giant widescreen television mounted to the wall above the receptionist desk constantly played movies or cable TV shows. Even the receptionists/nurses matched the room with their all red uniforms.

I could never tell if Dr. Gordon just put all this nice stuff here so we'd want to come back, or just because he felt bad for us. Or maybe was it because he was so rich that he could afford it? That was probably it, because Dr. Gordon _was _rich (I read an article about him in a health magazine) and he used some of his extra money to help us. He sometimes even paid for a part of our appointment fee if we couldn't pay ourselves. No, there's no scam. That's just him.

I've only been here a couple times, because Gordon just opened up this weird place just three years ago and I wanted to check out the new "AIDS Doctor," as Collins had said. I'd never been here for anything major, just check-ups when something didn't feel right, and Mimi had obviously never been here, either. The hospital was on the "nice" side of town and the "average" people came here, but you would always see maybe one poor person coming down to see Dr. Gordon. The fact is, though, that none of the "average" or "upper-class," folk come down to see the "AIDS Doctor" because they either a.) Afraid of him, b.) Afraid of us OR c.) they want to see the others AIDS Doctor in the building, Dr. Syosys, who is a "better" doctor with higher fees but "better" care.

Mimi quickly went to the plush sofa and grabbed a huge red micro-fur blanket, wrapping it around herself and grinning as she watched me.

"Hi, I'm Roger Davis, I'm here for an appointment with Dr. Gordon." I told the small woman behind the large glass desk at the front of the waiting room.

"Dr. Gordon will be right with you," she smiled a huge smile of bleached white teeth.

"Thank you." I nodded shortly and sat at the end of the sofa where Mimi was curled up. "Nice here, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she bobbed her head vigorously, looking around at the completely empty waiting room "How come you've never told me about this place before?"

"I don't know, I thought you were against doctors," I said.

"Hmm…" she mumbled. I quickly walked over to the glass table and shuffled through the magazines until I found a good one, which I brought back to my seat. "It is so warm in here," Mimi commented.

"Enjoy it while you're here," I garbled.

"Mr. Davis? Dr. Gordon will see you now," called a nurse from the door, waving her hand.

"Stay here," I told Mimi as I got up to leave.

"I'm _definitely_ not going anywhere." She grinned. I followed the red-haired nurse with red scrubs through the red hallways (did I mention that red is the AIDS color?) until we got to one of the four appointment rooms. The waiting room over Gordon's practice is very large, while behind the desk there isn't all that much besides the four appointment rooms, a lab, two bathrooms and his office. The nurse held the door open for me and I walked in. Dr. Gordon was already seated in his red leather swivel chair at his little desk beneath the red medicine cabinet.

"Hello, Roger!" he boomed in his cheery voice, quickly swiveling around to face me. Dr. Gordon is large and round, with an always smiling face and bright red cheeks, with a short white beard and long silvery white hair on his head with a bald spot at the top. He was wearing a long white doctor's coat over his shirt and tie, with a red ribbon pinned to the lapel of the coat. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," I shrugged, sitting on the cushioned table, the crackly paper making noise as I sat down on it.

"Then what's wrong?" Gordon asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"I don't really know… it is just that something hasn't felt right ever since… ever since Angel died." I explained slowly. Gordon nodded understandingly, though I'm sure he didn't know who Angel was unless Collins had come to see him.

"I see… death can be very hard on the body," Gordon smiled encouragingly, pulling out his implements of torture (medical tools), and immediately strapping stuff on me, like a blood pressure cuff he put around my upper arm. "Have you been taking your AZT?"

I nodded, wincing as the cuff squeezed my arm. "Yeah," I said.

"Getting enough sleep?" he asked, not looking at me as he rolled up my shirt sleeve and wiped a cotton swab against my skin where my largest green vein was.

"I think so,"

"Eating?" he inquired, taking a small needle and sticking it in the vein. I watched as dark red blood went through the long, thin tube into the glass vial.

"Well, sometimes but we don't have much money for food." I explained.

"I'll go through your blood work and everything, but I can tell you right now, Roger, that I think all you really need is to get some sleep regularly, getting into a regular eating habit, like breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks in between. Also, I think you need to work on stress and calming yourself down. I'll give you some brochures about stress and dealing with death."

xxx

"Well, you are almost perfectly healthy right now, but your glucose level is a tiny bit low… it doesn't really affect you very much, because it is only a tad bit off, so all I'm going to tell you is to keep taking your AZT and, like I said before, get into regular eating habits and try to eat more to get your glucose level up a little." Dr. Gordon smiled and gave me a pat on the back, shoving me out the door of the appointment room.

"Thanks, man," I grinned, walking over to Mimi, shaking her by the shoulder. She was asleep. "Mimi, I'm all done," I said softly.

"Roger," she murmured, her eyes opening slowly. She roused herself and threw the blanket back in the wicker basket, latching herself back on to me. "So, everything's alright?"

"Yeah, all I really have to do is get my glucose level up and keep taking AZT," I said solemnly, turning around to see if anyone was watching and then swiping a magazine off the glass table before Mimi and I stepped onto the elevator.

"And then you'll be alright?" Mimi asked hopefully.

"No, I'm still… I'm still…" I tried to choke out.

"Still what?" Mimi cocked her head to the side and looked at me with her big chocolate brown puppy dog eyes.

"I'm still _dying_, Mimi," I said.


	7. Chapter 7: CONFESSIONS

**xMimix**

"I-I know," I answered defensively. "Just not … right now."

Roger rolled his eyes and said as if I were a child, "No, Mimi, not right now. That's right."

"You don't have to be like that, you know," I said, annoyed.

"Like what?" asked Roger.

"Like … rude. Like you're talking to a five-year-old. I donnou."

"Look, Mimi, I'm under a lot of stress right now, with the new puppy, and Angel dying, and Mark making this new documentary, and …"

He trailed off. Even he knew that was a weak argument for being such a jerk.

"Roger. That puppy behaves absolutely fine all on its own, Angel died a while ago, so that's not as stressful anymore, and, in case you haven't noticed, you're not Mark, so him making a documentary hardly gives _you_ a reason to be so mean to your friends. All right? We're all going through the same things. And oh, sure. Mark making a documentary that has almost nothing to do with any of us is giving us all a lot of sleepless nights. Right."

I stared at him, trying to meet his eyes and tell what he was feeling, but he kept looking down and away from me. He didn't say a word, so I kept right on ranting.

"Roger, why … why can't you just ever tell me the straight truth? I don't know what's really bothering you, but I could help you if you told me. If you won't tell me, there's absolutely nothing I can do. That goes for everyone. We can't read your mind, Roger, so stop being angry at us for not knowing what you're thinking all the time! Quit expecting us to make you forget about it when we don't even know what it is! You've got to snap out of it!"

"Listen, Mimi … I know you're right. I'll tell you what's really bothering me," said Roger hesitantly, still not looking at me as we stepped out of the elevator and walked through the hospital's busy and extremely noisy lobby. "As soon as we get out of here," he added, taking my hand and pulling me briskly through the high-ceilinged room and out the main doors.

"Mimi ... the actual reason I've been so stressed out lately is that after Angel died, I kept seeing how hard it was for Collins, and then, after you almost died, and basically did, I kept thinking how easily it could have been me," he said.

I could tell it was killing him to share his emotions like this, but I needed to know these things if he wanted my help to get over them, so I let him continue.

"And then when you were having trouble a while ago after you stopped using it got really hard to tell the difference between the symptoms of that and the symptoms of going back to … that. And so I got really, really scared that next time it would be me, but I couldn't talk to you about it because … I'm not like that."

He had sat down on a big boulder in the garden outside of the hospital that they brought the patients out to when they needed some fresh air and exercise. He had his head down, his hair hiding his face. His hands were clasped and I knew that, right now, talking to me about this was torture.

"You know," I said, "I have some confessions of my own. I was tempted to go back to that."

"You were?" he asked, lifting his head slowly.

"For a while," I said, nodding. "Being under all this pressure and all this stress reminds me of when I was a kid and started in the first place. Haven't I ever told you how I grew up?"

Roger shook his head. I sat down with him and took a shaky breath before I began my story.

"When I was five, my parents were killed in a car crash. I was in the car. I remember a big truck hitting us. We were really close to a truck stop with a bar. He was drunk. I can picture this giant red truck just coming right at us … and the next thing I remember, I'm in the hospital with my grandmother in the chair next to my bed. I wasn't hurt much, so I went home that same day and lived with my grandmother until I was thirteen. Then my grandmother died. I had to go to the orphanage near where I lived in upstate New York." I swallowed and closed my eyes for a second before going on. I had never told anyone about this before.

"Day after day," I said, enunciating each syllable in my efforts to get the words out, "I watched the adorable little babies who weren't wanted be brought in and adopted right away. Sometimes a baby would go within twenty-four hours. Sometimes there would be a couple coming to meet all of us, and a woman would walk in with her week-old baby, and the baby wouldn't even have to stay overnight. Wouldn't even have to eat the gross orphanage food. Just got adopted right away. Most of the couples didn't give us older kids a chance. There was no possibility of me being adopted. No chance for anyone who wasn't either under the age of ten or really, really short and therefore _looked_ under the age of ten. I had no reason to hope to be adopted or to hope for anything else." I paused. This was the hard part.

"I gave up on myself. I got in with the bad crowd. That's when I started. Then I was just waiting to be eighteen. Then I would finally get out of there. Nothing changed during those six years, and that didn't encourage me any. Everything was still the same. The same adorable little babies coming in with the same filthy teenage mothers, getting out within a week and leaving the rest of us stuck there just because we didn't have rosy cheeks and baby fat.

"And that's my life story."

* * *

**A/N: **_hi, everyone, it's twilighthp95 again! this chapter has mimi's dark past, i hope you like the ideas i came up with! (please review!) _


	8. Chapter 8: TRUTH OR DARE

**Chapter Eight **

**(By L and E)**

_7:32 PM _

Maureen looked at herself in the mirror and twirled around, examining her outfit. She wore light colored, skinny-leg jeans that were tucked into her knee-high black boots. She also wore a long blank sleeveless tank top and her hair was up in a high ponytail accented with a sparkly pin. She couldn't wait to go out with Mimi and Roger and... Joanne. They were going on a sort of double date, sort of just all going out to dinner because they were friends. It hadn't been a double date originally. Mark and Collins only weren't going because Mark was going to be spending the night working on his new documentary, and he had mentioned that he could use some help with it. Collins was "the nice one" of the group, so he was staying behind.

She glanced at her silver watch. 7: 32. _Oh crap_, she thought, _I'm gonna be late! _They were supposed to meet at the Life Café at 7:40! She hurried out the door. _Thank God Joanne isn't home_, she thought as she grabbed her coat off the hook by the door and rushed into the hall. If she weren't coming straight from work and we were going to be this late, I don't even want to think about how mad she'd be. She ran to the elevator, pounding the down button repeatedly until it finally arrived. She jabbed the button for the lobby with her long nails the moment she was inside the small space and tapped her foot the whole way down.

When the doors finally opened, she sprinted through the shabby lobby, attracting many stares as she hurried past everyone in the large room, breathing heavily already, not only with exertion, but also with stress. Pushing the door open, she ran as fast as she possibly could down the New York street, getting even more odd looks as she panted along in her sleeveless shirt and bouncing jewelry. Even at this speed, it would take her ten minutes to get to the cafe. She couldn't stay at this pace, and it was fifteen minutes later that she was finally pulling the door of the Life Cafe open.

"Hey, guys, I'm here!" she gasped bursting as she made a grand entrance, bursting into the Life Cafe, out of breath. All of her friends were gathered around a small table, Joanne with her head tipped back staring at the ceiling and Mimi and Roger staring at each other blankly. Not romantically, really, just blankly.

"Hey Maureen," Mimi said, big eyes still glued to Roger's face. "Maureen, you're late." Joanne tapped her watch impatiently.

"Yeah, like, five minutes late," Maureen snorted.

"Well, I'm not going to argue. Just, thank God you are here. These two have been in a never ending staring contest since we got here." The lawyer motioned towards Mimi and Roger. Mimi tore away from his glare and smiled at Maureen.

"Hi," she muttered, embarrassed. "What's up, Maureen?" "Oh, nothing. Just being bored at home. You know. The usual," Maureen answered, putting her purse on the table and sitting down next to Joanne "So, what's up with you two?"

"Oh- nothing," said Roger quickly. Maybe a little _too _quickly.

Mimi quickly cut in. "So, the waiter already came by and asked for our drink orders, but we told him to come back in five, 'cause you weren't here yet."

"Wow that was quick," Mimi muttered. "Hey, Roger, I'm going to go to the bathroom." she got up daintily from her seat."I'll come with you," Roger said, leaping up from his seat.

"No, stay here and order my food," Mimi directed."What do you want?" Roger asked helplessly."Surprise me" Mimi said flatly with a sigh, shaking her head and leaving the group.

Roger shook his head. "Why is she being so difficult?" he asked himself aloud.

"I donnou. Maybe she thinks you should know her better," suggested Maureen.

"But she's got to be realistic! We've only ever been able to afford this place once! How should I know what she usually orders here?" cried Roger throwing his hands in the air.

"Are you sure this isn't part of a slightly bigger problem than not knowing what to order her?" asked Joanne suspiciously.

"I'm not even sure," said Roger exasperatedly, putting his head in his hands.

"Well, Roger, don't let your relationship problems stress you out!" Maureen offered with smile.

"I don't have relationship problems!" Roger protested.

"Keep telling yourself that," Maureen shook her head. The waiter quickly bustled over to their table and asked for orders. "I have a good idea" Maureen whispered. "How about we all just order the same thing? Then if you get her the wrong thing it is just 'cause we all decided to get the same thing."

"O-kay ..." said Roger slowly. "Then I guess we'll all have the ... meatball subs." The waiter nodded and wrote down the order. Roger shook his head at Maureen. "You're extremely bizarre, you know that?" he said, half weirded out and half admiring.

"I know," said Maureen airily, and promptly began staring at some point on the ceiling, her eyes glassy. Roger let out an involuntary snort.

"All right then." Mimi came around the corner and slid back into the booth next to Roger. Roger quickly looked away from her and stared at the ceiling with Joanne and Maureen, clearly not seeing whatever it was that they were seeing.

"What are you guys looking at?" Mimi asked curiously, craning her neck and looking at the cracked plaster. "This is kinda boring. One of the worst dates I've ever had," she glared at Roger.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Why don't we play a game or something? Like... a truth or dare game?"

"Maureen." Joanne stared at her incredulously. "You don't play truth or dare on a date." She turned to Mimi and Roger, giving them an apologetic smile. "Sometimes I think I've taught her nothing ..."

"That's because you haven't. I was serious. Let's play truth or dare," insisted Maureen.

"I ... guess ... we could," said Mimi, confusedly. "But ... why? I haven't played truth or dare since I was, like, fifteen."

Maureen gave the table at large a devilish grin. "Then you'll absolutely love my version, Mimi," she said ominously. "This is like, extreme truth or dare," Maureen continued, raising her eyebrows, her eyes flickering between Roger and Mimi, both looking away from each other. She had to hatch the perfect plan to get them talking, or looking at each other again, or whatever. "Um ..." said Maureen, stalling for time. She had to come up with a really good dare to start with if this was going to work. "Here's how it works. You can dare whoever you want to do absolutely ANYTHING. Anything that is not_one hundred percent guaranteed_ to get them killed. All right?" Everyone's eyes widened, the minds behind them wondering what they had gotten themselves into, but they just nodded. "So," said Maureen slowly. "Who wants to go first?" No one said anything. "All right, then. If that's how you want it, that's how it's gonna be. Roger's first."

"Um, can I do a truth instead?" Roger asked. "I can't think of a good dare."

"Sure, I guess, but that is SO not as fun," Maureen pouted.

"Alright, then, I have to ask a truth of..." he looked frantically around the table and finally his eyes settled on Mimi, whose eyes widened in fear. Roger grinned, wondering what he could do with this opportunity. "Mimi,"

"Wait," said Mimi. "What are the rules for the truths?"

"Gimme a minute," sulked Maureen, "truths are so incredibly boring that we've never even done one in extreme dare before." Everyone waited awkwardly as Maureen fixed her eyes on the ceiling once again and stared off into face, a teasing smile on her face. It must have been a full two minutes before she finally focused back on the real world and snapped her fingers. "I've got it," she said, an impish grin on her face. "Well, my rules are that you can ask a question as personal as you like, as long as you don't drive them to tears. And they HAVE to tell the truth, or... or else they have to kiss you." Maureen said maliciously, knowing that if either way, this should help get Roger and Mimi closer than ever. "Now, Roger, ask Mimi a question." she ordered. Mimi let out a whimper and Roger narrowed his eyes, scratching his chin and looking around the room, as if searching for a good question. But before he could, Mimi began squinching up her eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, with laughter in his voice.

"Trying to cry, now shut up," muttered Mimi.

"Cheater!" protested Roger.

Maureen looked torn. "I'm not sure if that's cheating ... tears are tears ..."

Suddenly Mimi opened her eyes. "Waiter!" she called. The waiter, remembering the incident earlier, hurried to come back. "Do you have any pepper spray on you?"

"Um ... no," said the waiter, glancing at Roger. "Is he bothering you?"

Mimi sighed. "No, no. It was for me. Never mind, then."

Roger cleared his throat and rested his eyes back on Mimi, staring her straight in the eyes like a bull ready to charge. Mimi looked away, trying not to laugh at his intense death-stare. "Mimi, this is a very serious question," Roger began. "That I've wanted to ask you for the past... fifteen minutes. Did you REALLY have to go to the bathroom?" The girls burst out laughing and Roger folded his arms across his chest. "I'm serious here," he said, though it was obvious he was having trouble keeping a straight face. Mimi, who was laughing harder than Maureen or Joanne, took a long time to calm down.

"Um, no," she said when she could finally speak, and the table burst into a roar of laughter again.

"All right," Maureen choked out. "Now it's your turn to ask someone a question or dare them to do something completely outrageous." It was obvious which one she would have picked.

"All right," said Mimi deviously, "I think I'll ask a truth from Roger." Roger looked like he wanted to jump up out of his seat and run off like a kitten who had just been barked at by a Great Dane.

"W-What?!" he stuttered, looking at the table.

"So, Roger," Mimi smirked "Did you hate me when we first met?" Roger leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, pondering how he should answer.

"No," he said flatly after a moment of silence, a smile teasing and the corner of his lips. Then suddenly Roger leaned forward and kissed Mimi softly. She didn't pull away until a few moments later.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?" She gasped, turning away and fighting the urge to slap her boyfriend across the face... if that made any sense at all.

"Well," said Roger with a smirk, "I lied."

"Why?" asked Mimi.

"Why what?" asked Roger. "Why did I lie or why did you hate me?"

"Both," answered Mimi, looking frazzled.

"Well, I hated you because you used, and I lied so that I could kiss you," answered Roger matter-of-factly.

"Okay," said Mimi slowly. "Well ... thanks for lying, I guess?"

Maureen and Joanne snickered and grinned at each other. "It worked!" muttered Maureen.

"What was that?" said Roger unbelievingly.

"Uh-nothing," said Maureen quickly.

"No, I heard you," said Roger. "And ... I don't care." He shrugged. "Well, I have a question for you," he grinned. "Have you ever kissed a guy?"

"Uh, no." Mimi said quickly. "Wait-- but you just--" Roger began, confused. Then, Mimi kissed Roger back. Maureen and Joanne continued grinning.

"I," said Maureen "am a genius."

"And so am I," replied Mimi.

"Yes. You're both geniuses," replied Roger, looking dazed.

"So ... can I-" began Joanne, but Mimi interrupted by saying,

"Okay, now, I pick Roger. And my question is ... um ..." She looked helplessly at Maureen and Joanne. "I can't think of a question. Help me come up with a really good dare. Please?"

"Dare Roger to run around the outside of the cafe screaming and only wearing a-" Maureen began, but Mimi cut her off.

"Okay, Roger, I dare you to kiss me." Mimi chirped, leaning forward for a kiss, which Roger gratefully supplied.

"Okay, guys, if you are done can Maureen and I-" Joanne started, only to be cut off by Roger saying, "Okay, Mimi ... um ... I dare you to ..." He paused for dramatic effect, then grinned. "Follow me," he said.

"Okay," agreed Mimi, getting up and taking his hand as he led her towards the door of the café. Maureen and Joanne turned around, and their eyes followed Mimi and Roger out of the café.

"Should we go after them?" asked Maureen, puzzled.

"No," said Joanne emphatically. "I ... I just don't want to know."

* * *

**A/N: L: **_Hey everyone!! This chapter is actually written paragraph by paragraph alternating between E and L (try and figure out whose writing is whose!). We had tons of fun writing it and it's a nice long fun chapter for you all! Enjoy!  
_**E: **_PS: REVIEW OR ELSE! Just please review, okay?_


	9. Chapter 9: DRUNK!

Authors Note**: Hi! It's ForbiddenMemory, also more recently known as S! Ok, so I know I haven't posted, in, like, **_**ever**_**, but I finally got rid of my writers block so here is the chapter! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 9**

**xJoannex**

_8:05 PM_

Our meatball subs were set down in front of us, and Maureen immediately picked her's up, taking a large bite. I looked at mine wearily, debating with myself on whether I should actually put it in my mouth. I decided that I needed the energy, so I carefully took a bite. It was edible.

We ate quickly, talking about nothing in particular. When we were finished, our plates were taken away and Maureen surprised me when she said, "You know, I never got to dare _you._"

I gave her a look that said 'You've-got-to-be-kidding-me'. My eyebrows raised as I replied, "I thought you only did that for Roger and Mimi's benefit."

"Yea, well, now I want to have some fun." I merely shrugged my shoulders to give her the signal 'Sure, go ahead.'

"Alright, I dare you to..." A devilish grin came onto her face as she turned and looked at me. She turned, resting her left arm on the table as she stared me down. "I dare you to get drunk."

My eyes widened, "Maureen, no!" I protested. How could she even suggest such a thing? But then she did the worst thing that she could. She pouted those full lips of hers and stared at me.

"Please, pookie?" I groaned. I hated it when she did then. I tore my eyes away from her gaze, but I knew she was still watching me. Quickly, I gazed at her and found myself unable to tear my eyes away. So I gave in.

"Fine." I smiled and clapped her hands together, throwing her hands back and laughing.

"Waiter!" she called. He came over. "A beer for me and my friend here." And the rest of the night was a blur...

_1:48 PM_

I woke up... was it the next afternoon or had a day passed? I wasn't exactly sure. All I knew was is that I had a massive headache, my hair was hanging down, and my clothes were covered with wrinkles.

"Guys, I think she's awake," I heard a low voice say. Wait, I knew that voice. It was Collins!

With a groan, I pushed myself up. The room spun for a moment, and when it had stopped considerably I noticed that we were in Roger and Mark's apartment. Roger, Mark, Mimi, and Collins were all gathered around me.

"What happened?" I moaned, they all exchanged a glance. It wasn't until then that I realized that Maureen wasn't there.

"Joanne," Mimi said softly, I knew then something had happened, "do you remember anything that happened last night?"

I thought for a moment, then responded with, "Only that Maureen dared me to get drunk, then the rest is a blur." They all turned uneasy. "Oh god, what did I do?"

"Well..." Mark started, "You kind of... went to work wasted and started harassing clients and were... fired." I felt my eyes bulge, and put my head in my hands. Frail arms wrapped around my shoulders. Mimi.

"Joanne, this is important," Collins said, I stared up at him. He knelt down to eye level, "Have you seen Maureen?"

I didn't get to answer. The phone rang, and as usual Roger and Mark ignored it. "_Speeeeeeeeeeeeak._"

"Mark? Roger? It's Maureen,"—our heads snapped to stare at the phone—"Is Joanne there? I have sort of a problem and didn't know who else to call." I stood up and ran over to pick up the phone.

"Maureen? It's Joanne. What happened?"

"Slight problem, pookie. I've been arrested."

A/N: **Alright, now go and hit that pretty blue button that says 'submit review'.**


	10. Chapter 10: JAIL

A/N:** Hey, guys! It's L here, or Twilighthp95. Sorry this chapter took so long, but I've been really busy lately. I haven't even been able to post on my individual fanfiction very much. But I finally got you a chapter! So enjoy!**

**Chapter 10**

**xMaureenx  
**

I held my breath, waiting for the explosion from Joanne. But it never came.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," she sighed, and I could see her, rubbing her head, glaring at anyone else who was in the room, still in the bed, fresh from her … long sleep, hanging up the phone, and getting up to brush her wild hair while wondering what you were supposed to wear to bail someone out of jail.

I reluctantly hung up the phone and turned around. A large, muscly, well, _person_,was waiting for the phone behind me. I swallowed and gave … the person … a shaky smile, taking the few steps to stand next to the officer who had accompanied me the whole three yards from my cell to the pay phone on the grungy wall by the main desk of the police station.

"Done?" asked the police officer gruffly. In the few hours I had been here, it had become very clear that the police officers took their jobs of reeling in drunk drivers very seriously. It wasn't as if any real crime that went on would be given to the NYCJPS (New York City Junior Police Squad). They were just a backup for the little things while the NYPD took care of the real stuff. But it didn't look as if any of the employees here would accept or even acknowledge that fact.

I nodded, and the officer walked me back to the holding cell where half a dozen other recently-arrested people were glaring at each other. The officer locked me back in the cell, and I turned around, smiling nervously at a heavily-tattooed man who was punching one fist into the other purely for amusement as I sat down as far away as possible from him on one of the benches, next to a sobbing, scrawny-looking girl who couldn't be over twenty.

She lifted her head from where she had it in her hands to look at me.

"Do you know," she said quietly, almost angrily, although she was still crying, "that this the fifth time I've been arrested this week?"

It was Tuesday.

I got up and walked to the other bench.

I was just about to ask the scary man why he was staring at me like that (he was starting to remind me of that woman in rubber) when someone said, "Maureen- Maureen Johnson ?"

I jumped to my feet.

"In here!" I called.

The police officer who had called my name came into view outside my cell and said, "There's a Joanne Jefferson here to bail you out. Do you know this woman?"

"Yes, I do," I answered quickly.

"All right, then I'll let you out," replied the police officer, almost looking disappointed as she fished some keys out her pocket and unlocked door, pulling the bars aside. The other prisoners glared jealously at me as I skipped merrily out of the cell and out of their sight, to where Joanne was waiting next to main desk, filling out paperwork and then pulling her wallet easily out of her organized purse to get the bail money.

"Yay! I'm so glad you're here!" I said, clapping my hands together and rocking back and forth on my toes.

"Yeah, well, we'll discuss this on the way home," said Joanne, looking very frazzled as she handed the police officer the money and thanked her.

We walked silently out of the station. Joanne's jaw was clenched and I could tell she was angry with me. She yanked open the door to the car while I climbed in the passenger side. I buckled up and looked over at her. She had both hands on the wheel in an iron grip and was looking at the floor. Through clenched teeth, she said slowly, "I would like you to calmly and rationally explain to me why I had to bail you out of the local jail and exactly what happened to get you there."

**Teehee nice little cliffy for whichever author writes the next chapter to pick up. Want to encourage us to write more? REVIEW! And by the way, I know it's not so long, but I'm sure the next chapter will be up soon, so that'll make up for it.**


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